


but let your love even with my life decay

by iwritetrash



Series: shakespearean sonnets [7]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Another unnecessary death fic, Edward Drummond Dies, Grief/Mourning, M/M, References to Shakespeare, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: o if, i say, you look upon this versewhen i perhaps compounded am with clay,do not so much as my poor name rehearse,but let your love even with my life decay,~ sonnet lxxi, william shakespeare





	but let your love even with my life decay

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i actually wrote this the day after i posted the last part and then my laptop had a meltdown and i lost the document because i'm an idiot and i didn't save it and it took me a while to actually find the energy to give this another go, but here we are with another addition to my sonnet series! enjoy!

Before the bullet even hits him, somehow, Edward knows he will not return from this alive. Something about the angle of the gun, the rage in the shooter’s face, and the bullet flying through the air towards him as he pushes Peel out of the way and places himself in its path instead gives him an odd premonition, a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can’t quite explain.

His entire world shifts into slow motion, or perhaps his mind has shifted into overdrive, racing at a million thoughts per second, as though he is trying to fit every single thought he ought to have had over the rest of his life into these few brief minutes before he dies. It’s odd. He has always heard people talk of their life flashing before their eyes, of dwelling on the past right before death, but Edward finds himself rather more focused on what the future holds.

Not for him of course.

The bullet finally hits him, and Edward can feel it burning a path through his body at an agonisingly slow pace. His entire body seems to have gone numb, aside from that single burning path working through him, focused entirely on what the future holds.

What will happen to those left behind? Edward’s father is and aging widower, and he has no other children to care for him, or to take on the family business. Florence will be left without a fiancé, and with little hope of finding herself a new one while in mourning. Peel will be left without a secretary to keep him organised.

Edward is stumbling back now, feeling the bullet ricochet around inside him. All these other lives he worries for are but fleeting thoughts until his mind brings him to Alfred.

 _Alfred_. The poor man is probably waiting for him at the restaurant, hoping Edward will arrive so that he might make amends. Edward wishes Alfred were here so that he might tell him that all is forgiven. But enough of the past, it is the future which holds the greatest threat. What will become of Alfred, now that Edward is dead, or, at least, he will be soon?

Will Alfred mourn him, Edward wonders? Such displays of emotion could be grounds for suspicion. People might get curious, might start to whisper, might investigate the situation, might expose Alfred to shame which Edward can hardly bear to think about. 

He’s falling now, falling towards the wet cobblestones, and he thinks he can feel arms breaking his fall, but his vision has all but abandoned him, so he cannot make out who it is. He thinks he can hear someone calling his name, and he can still hear the echo of the gunshot ringing out through the street.

He can taste blood in his mouth. 

Had he but time, he would clasp Alfred by the hand and order him not to mourn him any longer than it took to bury him in the cold earth. Edward does not want to imagine his lover clad in black, his heavenly face crumpled as though in pain, all for his sake. No, it most certainly would not do. He would far rather Alfred forget him entirely, and live without his memory, than experience pain like that.

But his voice has failed him, and Alfred is not there to hear it, even if Edward had been able to summon the words.

Edward has never been religious, but in that moment he opens his heart and he prays with all that he has for just a little more time, that he might see Alfred again, and that he might be able to give voice to all that he has left to say. He does not know why he expects God to help him, for he has seen Alfred worry over his bible, tracing verses condemning _men like them_ , but he prays nonetheless, in the hope that God might be forgiving.

His prayer, it seems, goes unheard, and unanswered.

 _This is how it ends_ , Edward muses. On the London cobblestones, still wet from the rain, far away from the man he loves, with blood in his mouth and the smell of gunpowder in his nose. It doesn’t hurt anymore, he thinks. At least it doesn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so so much for reading and putting up with pretentious ass. i thrive on comments and kudos, so please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> i promise i'll write a happy one at some point, maybe when exams are over and my stress levels drop and i remember what joy feels like idk. but if you have a sonnet in mind that you want to see then let me know and i'll add it to my list of ideas!
> 
> thank you again for reading and dealing with my stupidly long little author's notes <3


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